


Trust Me?

by bookworm03



Series: This Is War [1]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Galactic War AU, Rape/Non-con Elements, prisoners of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s never been one for false bravado, but sometimes dying seems better than whatever circle of hell she’s in now. </p><p>Galactic War AU. That's the only way I can think to describe this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashisfriendly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASH! You inspired this monstrosity with the prompt Evil!Ben so I blame you. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> This is some weird amalgam of Star Wars/Star Trek/Battlestar Galactica. I blame the excessive amount of Star Wars discussions I've had with _somebody_ as of late. 
> 
> I don't know, don't ask. It was super fun to write and I hope it's as entertaining to read.

**Day One**

She’s coming in hot and fast, engines sputtering with their last dregs of life as she swerves to avoid a crest in the terrain and aim for the water. The plane stalls and her control board turns black and she flicks every switch she can think of, milliseconds feeling like hours as the ground comes up in front of her. Her heart seems to stall too as she hits a button on the dash to pop out the front panel an instant before she pulls on the _Eject_ lever with all her might.

Her chute opens, but she didn’t give herself enough room, stubbornly fighting to save her ship until the last possible second. She smashes into the soil, her seat doing little to brace her fall as she slips from consciousness.

**Day Twenty**

She saw him again today. The bastard who found her at the crash site the night she hit ground. She’d been injured, badly injured, and he’d gotten there before her people could send a craft down to retrieve her. His long fingers had curled around her dislocated shoulder while his other palm had pressed into her bleeding thigh. She’d screamed in pain and he’d told her to shut up and thrown her over his shoulder.

She had no weapon, not that she was particularly good with one, but it was something. It might’ve helped a little if she’d been able to reach it.

When she awoke they’d thrown her into a cell, a freezing cold cell where she’d remained since then. Every day that same man with the dark hair and long fingers has come back to visit her. His beard’s heavier each time she sees him and his eyes are darker, more black, more soulless. Instead of being etched with venom his words are always cold, calculated; they tell her of ships that have been destroyed miles above the atmosphere, of her people’s failings, her alliance’s growing weaknesses...

Sometimes she refuses to eat whatever they shove her way and there he’ll be, dark and brooding, a cocky smirk on his lips as he asks if she has a death wish.

Sometimes she does. She’s never been one for false bravado, but sometimes dying seems better than whatever circle of hell she’s in now.

Her injuries from the crash are mostly healed now. She doesn’t know who to thank for that.

**Day Twenty-Six**

“You were born on the wrong side of this thing, Lieutenant,” he licks his lips like he’s relishing the words. “And it’s going to cost you.”

“You’re the ones attacking _us_ !” She snaps for the first time. “You’re the ones destroying our cities and colonies and cutting off our supply ships and you - _you_ are dragging this thing out. You murdered my father and my friends!”

“Sorry about that,” he snarls, deadpan. “It’s war; you understand.”

She launches herself at the bars, but he strides away, seeming bored. Evil, sick, twisted bastard.

“Innocent people are dying because of you - ”

“Innocent people are dying because this is war, Lieutenant Knope. You want that to stop? Surrender.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already there, babydoll.”

**Day Thirty-Four**

“Up, Lieutenant,” he barks. Leslie rises slowly and turns to face the wall, pressing her hands against it. His body is compact and lean, pushing against her from behind as he slides his palms over her and pats her down.

The one thing she will say for this one is he never gropes, never grabs her ass or her tits, never tries to stick his hands down her pants and push his erection into her. He pats her down like it’s the most clinical of acts, more of a chore than something he takes pleasure in.

“Eat,” he steps away and throws a plate at her. It’s got actual meat on it and fresh bread and smells a thousand times better than the cold oatmeal they’ve been giving her. The meat - she doesn’t even want to know what animal it came from - is a little tough and gamey but when it hits her stomach she’s never been more grateful for anything. It’s like she can feel the protein seeping into her muscles, her head becoming clearer, her body warming with newfound energy.

“Thanks,” she looks up from the plate, unwilling to spare a second chewing to talk but feeling the need to say as much. He gives a little nod and leans back against the bars.

“We had a little extra. You were wasting away.”

She nods and it only occurs to her then it could be poisoned, but why keep her alive this long just to kill her like that?  Why treat her injuries at all?

When she finishes, he takes the plate and says nothing, the bars slamming behind him and the lock echoing just as loudly as it does every time in the damp, cavernous room.

**Day Thirty-Five**

“Your file says you worked in government.”

Leslie licks her lips and looks up. He brought her another plate today, definitely chicken this time. The bread is so warm butter melts on it (yes, _butter_ , it’s not whipped cream, but it’s the best thing she’s tasted in weeks, maybe months given how shitty the rations have been lately). His eyes are still dark, but they crinkle at the corners and his lips are just slightly north of stony which makes him seem younger. Softer. His hair isn’t even flecked with grey and she realizes then he’s probably around her age. He probably was barely an adult when this thing started too.

“Yes.”

Ben inclines his head. “And you started flying?”

She nods, shoving bread into her mouth and gulping it down greedily.

“Good thing too, since you bombed the building I worked at and my old office was incinerated.”

He licks his lips and offers her a cup of water. “At least it would’ve been quick.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she truly feels afraid for the first time since they picked her up. “As opposed to this?”

“You think we’re going to kill you?”

“You are going to kill me,” she snaps, more confident than she feels. “I’m just not sure when.”

“They want to trade for you,” he states, any softness she thought she saw disappearing instantly. “Don’t get excited.”

**Day Thirty-Six**

A different man brings her cold oatmeal so stale that she barely keeps it down. No sign of...whoever he is. Meat Man? Beard Man? The Non-Groper? She tries to ask and they tell her to get back against the wall, causing indignation to flare within her. She tries again and they spit on her and then pin her to the concrete and grind aggressively. Leslie would cry, at least whimper if she could, but it has nowhere to go and she can barely breathe with the stone pressed against her lips.

**Day Thirty-Seven**

It’s a different man yet again. This one is massive, over a foot taller than her with greasy hair and a flat nose that looks like it’s been broken in multiple places. He doesn’t even ask her to step back when he opens her cell because he’s so broad he takes up the entire entranceway. He throws her plate onto the ground and licks his lips while his eyes rake over her. Her jumpsuit isn’t exactly flattering, but she imagines it’s been a while for most of them on this godforsaken base. He pushes her face into the frigid ground and licks her earlobe because he feels like it. His breath smells like onion. When someone calls from the other side of the main door he thrusts against her ass and promises _next time_.

She doesn’t eat when he leaves, just curls up in a ball, trembling, and lets the tears come.

**Day Thirty-Eight**

The extremely large man is back and he makes good on his promise. Not that she remembers any of it. He smacks her head into the bars so hard she blacks out and when she wakes up there’s semen crusting between her thighs and her pants are down at her ankles. She throws up in a corner and sobs at the way her insides feel all churned and stretched out, her skin scraped raw in places and prickling.

 _Violated._ She’s never so perfectly understood the feeling of being violated before. Never has she so thoroughly appreciated the sensation of someone being where they had no right to be. Reaching places they had no right to reach.

**Day Thirty-Nine**

No one comes for her today. She still tastes the vomit on her tongue, the acid burns her stomach, her head hurts from exhaustion or dehydration, and she can’t even remember which way is up. She wishes she had her pack - her pill - she needs this to end. That was why she wanted to be a pilot in the first place - she’d never imagined she’d survive a crash landing and end up captured. She wanted it over if it was to be over, quick and painless, like her father had never received.

**Day Forty**

He’s back. Beard Man/Meat Man/The Non-Groper. His face is black and blue, he keeps running his tongue along his teeth as though he’s not sure all of them are still there (as far as she can tell they are), and there’s a huge gash on his cheek that extends from his ear to his jawline. Leslie can’t keep the shock off her face when she takes in his appearance. He gives her a wry little look as he unlocks the door.

It’s the first time since he left she’s felt anything but numbness and physical pain. He made her feel rage, but that was something at least.

“Against the wall,” he barks, but it’s somehow comforting. Leslie obliges and hears the clatter of a plate on the floor. His hands are strong and steady as they ghost over her but she flinches at the contact and swallows a yelp. He freezes.

“What the hell happened to your…?” His long fingers touch her blond curls matted with blood and she shudders as they part her hair.

“Good lord,” the hand on her hip tightens. “What the fuck happened?”

“N-nothing.”

“Lieutenant.”

“It was the other guy,” she’s grateful she keeps herself from stuttering, not wanting to appear affected. “The...he was big, I don’t know his name. I don’t know any of your names.”

“I’m Commander Wyatt.”

“That’s what they call you?”

“That’s what you can call me,” he turns her around, eyes slanting down and a frown setting on his face. “I got orders to help with a mission at another site. Someone else was in charge while I was away.”

“Oh.”

“Is there a reason he tried to crack your skull?”

She says nothing, but her eyes are brimming with tears. Wyatt’s hands remain on her arms even though his words are tinged with exasperation. 

“Did you say something stupid? Try to be a smart ass?”

“N-no.”

Wyatt glances around and surveys the area, his eyes narrowing on a piece of cloth she’d used to try and clean herself after. He crinkles his nose and then his eyes turn from dark brown to black, as if any light that had still been there burns out. When he straightens again his voice is level and laced with ice.

“Eat up, it’s decent today.”

“Are they still trying to negotiate for my release?”

“No,” he states bluntly. “We’re asking too much in exchange for you, apparently, but we know who you are Lieutenant and we think you’re worth a lot more than we’re asking.”

Leslie shuts her eyes and droplets flood her cheeks before she can help it. She feels him step back and when she opens them he’s at the door.

“Eat,” he orders before locking her in and disappearing.

She hears a commotion outside the door to the cells that night. A lot of shouting and possibly some crashes and gunshots...and Leslie doesn’t even want to know.

**Day Forty-One**

It’s so early it’s still the dead of night when Wyatt returns with a rucksack and something draped over his arm.

“There’s an old communications outpost twenty miles west of here that I might be able to get the transmitter working on. You can contact your people.”

Leslie’s eyes widen in disbelief and she rushes towards him, towards the door. She could easily slip past him and make a break for it.

“I...we don’t have much time. You’d have to trust me.”

“What...what are you...?”

“As soon as they get word of what happened I will no longer be in command of this base and then I’m dead and you are too so…I am your best chance right now. I know where the station is and I know the terrain. You don’t.”

“O-okay,” she stutters. “Okay...okay…”

Maybe he’ll shoot her in the back of the head as soon as they’re free and clear, or maybe she dies from exposure in the wilderness,  but both options sound better than where she is.

Wyatt throws the piece of cloth at her and shoulders the bag. It’s a coat, a very large coat that goes to her knees. He places an arm in the center of her back and guides her through the doors and into a hallway she doesn’t remember.

“Commander - ” she hisses but he cuts her off.

“Not for much longer.”

“What should I call you?”

He steers her around a corner and through another set of doors, the cold night air hitting her face so unexpectedly it stings. She pulls the coat around her more and his arm tightens, tucking her into his side.

“Keep your head down,” he murmurs. She doesn’t question it, doesn’t argue, just lets him guide her into the blackness.

*****

“What should I call you?” she repeats when they’re somewhere in heavy tree cover and he’s managed to start a fire. His hands are scratched and smeared with blood, but the swelling has gone down on his eye.

“Ben,” he shifts and motions towards the fire. “Or Wyatt, I guess, if you want. I don’t really care. Get closer. You’re skin and bones; you must be freezing.”

Leslie obeys, taking note of the dawn breaking the horizon.

“Can I call you Leslie now?”

She smiles for the first time in...god, forever. He lifts her between his legs, gently but without asking her permission, and studies the back of her head in the growing light.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls. “He almost killed you.”

“I wish he had.”

Ben’s thumb brushes against her ear. “Well, he didn’t and he’s dead so, you - ”

Leslie whirls so fast it makes her dizzy. “He’s...dead?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Why?”

 _“Why?”_ Ben eyes her incredulously. “Because I gave implicit orders when I left and he disobeyed them and when I confronted him about it he...was not remorseful. For what he did or for disobeying me. We’re not fucking barbarians. At least I didn’t think so.”

His hand moves to her cheek for the briefest of instants.

“If you were justified why did you have to run?”

“Because my superiors will not think I was justified, they’ll say I should’ve arrested him or something,” Ben hesitates. “And, like I said, your people weren’t willing to trade for you so they were going to order your execution any day now, and...”

“O-oh.”

His holds her neck as if he knows keeping her head up is a struggle. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

Ben’s lips quirk up. “Probably smart. Do you know how to get in touch with your people when we reach the outpost?”

“Yes.”

His thumbs are slipping, pressing, electricity buzzes through their points of contact and her body starts to feel warm all over. He seems so certain and slight-but-powerful, and she kind of wishes someone would just tell her what to do, no matter what side of this thing they’re on. Leslie’s tired of thinking for the first time in her life.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers, brown eyes still locked on hers. “I’ll take the first watch.”

“Why should I trust you?” it comes out before she can stop it. She wants to trust him, really. She wants him to give her a reason to trust him.

He chuckles throatily, but it’s light and airy and fills her with something.

“You shouldn’t, but you don’t have a choice right now.”

**Day Forty-Three**

She sleeps most of the first day, and they can only travel at night so they’re moving slowly, so slowly. Too slowly, she fears, but Ben never appears worried. He helps her navigate the terrain, directs her around tree branches and rocks and even lifts her when she’s too short to pull herself up onto some higher ground separated by a small crevice. They haven’t seen anyone so far and she can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing but again, Ben never appears to be anything but in control.

During the days they find places to sleep, take turns sitting watch with a pistol in their laps and their bodies pressed together for heat. He seems so drained, so worn down, but he definitely lets her sleep more.  

Leslie’s not sure if he’s lying about where he’s taking her, but if he’s telling the truth she’ll never be able to thank him for this.

**Day Forty-Five**

They find a small cave to spend the day in. It’s been raining for almost six hours and they’re soaked to the bone, so they seek refuge and Ben builds a fire. They sit back to back in their underwear, using the other person’s body to prop them up as their clothes dry. He’s pale and wiry, but with lean muscle stretching through the skin.

“How did you...get involved in this?” she tries to ask. He hasn’t given her much in the way of answers, but he’s been smiling more the last few days and even laughed - an actual _laugh,_  - at the face Leslie made when he handed her some berries and promised her they were edible.

For the record, they were disgusting and super sour. 

“I was elected representative of my home when I turned eighteen. Ruined the hell out of it, screwed up our position within the colony and they sent me into the service as my punishment. Turns out, there are some things I can manage not to fuck up.”

“Until I show up and force you to kill one of your own men?” she tries to glance back to check his face but his head moves with her.

“I didn’t kill him because he raped you. I killed him because he disobeyed me.”

His choice of words makes Leslie start to tremble and shiver. Ben hisses and curses himself. She’s glad she can’t remember it, knows it happened but doesn’t know _how_ exactly. She’s grateful she has nothing to flashback to when her mind’s too busy to sleep.

“If I’d killed him because of what he did to you there would’ve been a hell of a lot more screaming first,” he growls and it rolls through her. His hand moves back, the heel of it bumping hers and suddenly their fingers are linked, loosely, but threaded together.

Ben shifts, his body leaving while his hand remains, and pulls down her mostly-dry jacket.

“Come lie on this. Get some rest.” 

“You should rest too. It’s pouring, nobody will be able to find this place right now. And I’m a light sleeper.”

Ben pats down the coat and hesitates while she crawls on top of it beside the fire. He stretches out with her and his body feels long and hard as they curl onto the piece of fabric with barely any space between them. Ben’s closest to the flames, shielding her from it just enough so it’s not uncomfortable.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.” _No,_ she’s always freezing nowadays. Ben curls around her tighter anyway and that feels better. It shouldn't, but it does.

“Trust me yet?”

“No.”

She shouldn’t. Can’t.

She wants to.

He snorts as his arm drapes across her and his limbs tuck in around hers.

“Go to sleep, Lieutenant.”

He beats her there, snoring softly seconds later.

Leslie definitely can’t trust him to tell her when he’s too tired to stay upright, that's obvious.

**Day Forty-Seven**

Every piece of furniture in the outpost seems to be covered in a thin layer of dust and she coughs and sniffles as they move. Ben takes her hand and guides them through the darkness. His beard is less neat and in a need of a trim now, but somehow the disarray makes him seem softer. Endears her. His thumb brushes against the inside of her wrist.

“They’ll think I’m dead.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But your mother’s your mother, so I imagine word to her you might not be will kick everyone into gear.”

Leslie stops dead and Ben turns to face.

“You know who my mother is.”

Ben inclines his head.

“I do.”

“That’s why you wanted so much for me.”

“I was following orders, Lieutenant,” he tugs gently. “Come on, let’s find the transmitter.”

“Are you going to hold me for ransom if they come? So you can get away?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not, Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”

“But…” her heart starts pounding in her chest and the blood in her veins turns cold. “But they’ll arrest you and probably kill you eventually and you’ll…”

“I’ll be arrested and killed if I go back to my side too. I’m a traitor now.”

“But at least you wouldn’t be...interrogated...Why are you doing this?” she steps closer, the emotions of the last few days bubbling over finally. “Why did you help me? Why did you care what he did to me? Why did you…”

“You didn’t want this.”

Leslie gulps. “Wh-what?” 

“I saw that...that speech you gave on the...when you were still working in government. I saw it...from when we were still trying to come up with a treaty. You tried…you were really young and they called you naive and immature and you stayed up there for six hours - ”

“ - And twelve minutes.”

“- Trying to change their minds. Trying to...” he gestures feverently. “ _Stop_ this thing before it even started.”

It comes back instantly. That day. Her words. She’d had no notes, no preparation. They were all ready to go and sign the death notice for half of a colony over something that had never seemed that important to Leslie to begin with and…”

“You tried,” his hand comes up to cup her cheek in a gesture that should feel strangely intimate, but doesn’t. It feels comforting. He’s done it a few times now and it’s always comforting. “More people should’ve tried. More people should’ve been like you. You….were amazing.”

She starts to sob, against his hand and then into his chest and Ben rubs her back, holds her, breathes into her hair. It hits her all at once, crushes her under the weight of it. The last week, the last forty-seven days, the last fifteen years…

“Shhh, shhh,” he sways gently and she almost thinks he smiles, knowing he’s interrupting her thoughts. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I...I didn’t…” his grimey shirt tastes salty and of dirt as her tears spill onto it. “I couldn’t…”

“I know, I know,” Ben squeezes tighter. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Leslie finally pulls herself together after a few minutes, but Ben keeps her against his chest, running his hands over her back. It’s not embarrassing, losing her composure in front of this man who’s her enemy. It should be, but it’s okay, somehow.

“Everybody, on both sides of this thing, should be as brave as you, Lieutenant.”

He guides her away, leading her through the building until they stumble upon the transmitter. He has it working in no time and leaves her to find the frequency and make contact. She does after three hours and Captain Brendanawicz announces they will be in to collect her as soon as they can do so safely.

More than ever it feels like the clock is ticking.

She thinks Ben should go, run away from everyone, but he says he won’t. He says it’s too dangerous to leave her here by herself for however long it takes them.

She can’t make him go, so she holds his hand instead.

**Day Forty-Eight**

“My parents don’t give a shit what happens to me.”

“I won’t let them…”

Ben lifts an eyebrow. “Kill me? Torture me?”

“You…” Leslie swallows hard, she can’t stop pacing, knowing any minute a black shadow could descend from the heavens and her rescuers could arrive.

Well, her other rescuers. Her primary rescuer is looking remarkably calm for someone who’s about to be captured.

“I’d deserve it, Leslie.”

“You would not,” she squares her shoulders. “You were...I was a prisoner, yes, but you were respectful and you didn’t hurt me and you made sure no one else...you were doing your job, you aren’t a bad person because you’re on the other side.”

“Nobody’s going to miss me, no matter what happens with your people. Dead, imprisoned, it doesn’t matter either way - ”

“It matters to me.”

Ben sighs and reaches for her, guiding Leslie to where he’s standing.

“You,” he holds her shoulders under his palms. “Why do I get the feeling everything matters to you?”

“ _People_ matter to me,” she states with a lump in her throat. Ben almost-smiles and nods. She thinks his eyes might be brimming with moisture, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“ _Peopl_ e don’t deserve you, Leslie Knope.”

*****

Ben seems at ease, but his fingers tighten around hers when the craft lands and half a dozen men emerge, holding weapons and wearing full gear. They circle the perimeter and Leslie stiffens her spine and prepares for the onslaught. The door bursts open and Captain Brendanawicz enters, his gun aimed right at Ben. Leslie steps in front of the barrel.

“He’s fine,” she snaps boldly as Mark rushes to her. “He’s fine, you don’t need to - ”

Someone comes up from behind and there’s a buzzing sound and Ben slumps to the ground in a heap. Leslie spins as Mark grabs her by the forearm and crouches down to ask if she’s alright. She doesn’t answer, just watches as they grab Ben’s lifeless body and drag him out towards the craft. Mark studies her carefully. The back of her throat starts to ache and her vision blurs.

“Leslie, Leslie, focus. Look at me. What did he do to you? Are you okay?”

“Nothing!” she shoves Mark off, angry tears burning her eyes. “He did nothing but helped me and treated me well. You didn’t need to do that!”

Mark lifts an eyebrow.

“Well, he blew up three of our supply ships in the last two weeks and executed multiple attacks on the colonies and killed at least four dozen of our troops, so I’m not exactly thinking he’s innocent.”

“He helped me! He helped me contact you! He’s trying to help!”

“That’s good for him. Hopefully he cooperates then and we won’t have to interrogate him.”

“And when you’re done with that?” She snarls as Mark drags her towards the ship and pushes her up the gangway. He doesn’t answer, just edges her forward.

“And after, you kill him, right?”

“That’s not my call, Leslie. But he would’ve done it to you.  You must have Stockholm syndrome or something because he _held you prisoner_ and would have killed you once we denied them the ransom. Our spies _told us_ he was given the order to kill you after we denied him the ransom.”

“AND HE DIDN’T!” Her eyes felt like they were bulging out of her skull. “He didn’t! He helped me escape!”

“And we want to find out why - ”

She shoves Mark with as much strength as she can muster and stalks off towards her seat.

**Day Forty-Nine**

“Why...he told you everything you asked!” Leslie whirls to face her mother. She’s still tired, so tired, and everything hurts and she would probably pass out instantly if it weren’t for adrenaline. If it weren’t for Ben Wyatt and feeling like he needs her.

“We’re just making sure he’s not holding anything back. He probably is, sweetheart. You know that as well as I do.”

Maybe, probably, he would be stupid not to if he had any intention of trying to live beyond this, but Leslie doesn’t care. He was nothing but truthful to her and she wants them to stop. She hates this for anybody, but she’d be dead right now if it weren’t for Ben and seeing him...seeing Mark do that while Dwyer stands by the door and watches…

“Leslie, it’s war,” Marlene explains pragmatically. “You can’t be this soft - ”

“I’M NOT BEING THIS ANYTHING! THIS IS WRONG!” she shoves at a stack of papers and they go tumbling to the ground in a heap. Marlene rolls her eyes.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for him! Me, Leslie, your daughter would be _dead_ if it weren’t for him!”

“He’s still the enemy. And you’re exhausted after this ordeal. Go lie down, see if Ann can give you something to help you sleep.”

Leslie pushes past Marlene, casting one final glance inside the room before storming off towards her quarters. She’s done this a lot lately, and it makes her feel like a petulant child, but she doesn’t have anything to bargain with right now.

**Day Fifty**

He looks up when she slips into the room, hurrying to close the distance between them and dropping to her knees. His face is swollen and his lip, bloody. Leslie touches it gently and he puckers against her fingertips.

“Ugh, fuck, how bad is it?”

“I brought you medicine.”  She says instead of answering.

Ann Perkins, the sweetest, most beautiful nurse in the world, understood her position as soon as Leslie had explained it and helped her formulated a plan. It was better than storming off and slamming doors, even if it meant doing something insane. She had to help him - she had to _do something_.

Ben can barely lift his head, but he manages to turn enough to look at her. The coldness, the iciness from before is so far gone it’s hard to remember it was ever there. He’s all warmth and gentleness that spreads between them and sets in her bones.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Tears spill down her cheeks and she takes a shaky breath.

“Do you want to die?” she whispers.

“That depends,” he replies hoarsely and leans in closer. Leslie laughs because somehow that’s amusing right now.

“On?”

“If I say ‘no’ will you keep looking at me like that?”

Her heart stills in her chest as his words wash over her. God this is ridiculous, so, so very ridiculous. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling but it’s a lot and  it’s only intensified when Ben finds her hand. She cups his cheek, hoping it comforts him the way he did her, feels his scruff beneath her fingers and exhales.

“Do you trust me - ?”

“Yes,” Ben cuts her off, eyes crinkling at the corners. She laughs again, but it’s mingled with a breathy sob.

“Just that easy, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Alright Wyatt, on your feet. We don’t have much time.”

They stand together shakily and Ben presses his forehead to hers. His arm wraps around her waist and his other hand comes up to pull her face against his.

“Are you sure?” he’s pleading, almost willing her to change her mind. To do it now before they’re too far gone. Leslie nods resolutely instead.

“Yes.”

“Why?” his nose bumps hers. “Why are you doing this?”

“You didn’t want this either.”

Ben’s eyes well again and she secures her hold on him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

**Day Fifty-Two**

“Where are we going?” he asks as she steers carefully towards their newest coordinates and sets the autopilot. The first part of their escape had been mostly trying to evade detection and now they were actually following a vector.

“One of the neutral colonies.”

The medicine Ann gave her has worked wonders and Ann, her best friend in the entire world, is with them. She’s sleeping now, but she’s there, safe too. She aided their escape, there was no leaving her behind.

“Leslie,” her name sounds strange when he says it, but it makes her smile. She glances over, wishing he’d sleep and let her handle everything. He had the shit kicked out of him in more ways than one, he needs to sleep.

“You should get some rest.”

Apparently he was thinking along the same lines.

“You should come with me.”

Minutes later, Ben curls around her in a bunk fully clothed; his body is limp but his heart beats furiously against her back. It slows in tandem with hers and their fingers tangle together as they doze off.

**Day Fifty-Seven**

They drop Ann off with her relative first, with lots of tears and promises to contact each other as soon as they can. They stay in a small hotel in the colony before finally finding an actual house to rent - cash only, no questions asked. It’s very small and there’s barely room for two of them in the kitchen, but it’s near the ocean. Ben tries to make these stupid meat-filled pastries and Leslie laments the lack of a waffle iron. They get new clothes in town, burn the ones they were wearing and sit on the porch that night, sipping sweet alcohol and staring at the crystal blue waters 100 yards from where they are.

**Day Sixty-Eight**

He kisses her for the first time that night. For all the horrible dreams and the crawling into each other’s beds and holding hands, he’s never done that and neither has she. But he does it now. She’s making pancakes for dinner ( _again_ , he teased her about that), there’s a warm breeze flowing through the open window, she smells salt air and fragrant flowers, and Ben comes up behind her with a silly, crooked smile, and turns her to face him. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and his hair is longer and sticking out at strange angles, but his beard is back to being neatly trimmed. She wonders what he’d look like without it.

He’s almost shy when he speaks, hands sliding up to cup her jaw and part of her neck as he dips down.

“You are beautiful.”

It’s soft and sweet; barely a kiss, with no pressure, no probing, just a fluttering of lips and his smile still there and hers forming to greet it. He breaks the contact, forehead pressed to hers, fingers twisting through her hair but never tugging, never demanding. It’s too soon to demand anything of each other. They’ve had too much demanded of them already.

“I love you,” she confesses, pushing up onto her toes and kissing him again. Because she does. She loves his determination, his resilience, she loves how he rubs her ankles when they lie on the couch at night, she loves how he talks or hums softly to her when she’s afraid and trembling. She loves how he looks at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice, like the answers to everything are buried within her.

“I love you too,” he echoes, kissing back and sliding his tongue along her lip. Ben eases her against the counter and his hands go everywhere, just light, feathery touches, until one of them points out her pancakes are burning.

Ben pulls back and kisses the tip of her nose and they both laugh.

“Pancake me, Knope.”

God, he’s a cute dork.

**Day Eighty-One**

It’s so sunny all the time that Leslie forgets there’s a war going on. She tries to avoid watching the news reports, tries not to think too hard about how she abandoned her mother and her friends to save someone who at least helped murder other friends. Tries not to spend too much time considering that this man had killed with the hand she’s now holding as they lie on their sides in bed together. Tries to focus on how stupidly, blissfully in love with him she is.

She shouldn’t feel this way. He’s been her enemy for a lot longer than he’s been anything else, even if she didn’t realize it. She shouldn’t be so at ease with him, trust him so readily.

But she does. She feels it in the way he holds her cheeks and kisses her teeth on mornings like this, or nights when it’s just them and the sea breeze and freedom; she feels it in the way he finds reasons to come into her bed and curl around and promise it will be okay and they can protect each other. She feels it in the way he tugs her over to a stall at the market and pushes a fresh strawberry passed her lips with a silly grin, as if they’re not avoiding anything, afraid of anything; as if this is all there is to life and all there’s ever been. She feels it in the way Ben looks at her like this is the absolute happiest he imagines any person could ever be.

“I love you,” he promises, tilting her chin and sliding his lips over hers. It’s tame. Gentle, reverent kisses that never asks for more than she’s ready to give. She’s not sure what she’s ready to give. Leslie likes kissing him, lying in bed with him, likes when he holds her close, but she’s not ready for more yet.  

“Love you too,” Ben, being around Ben, kissing Ben, makes Leslie feel lighter than she has in years.

“I don’t know why,” he admits, forehead against hers. “I probably don’t deserve - ”

“Shh, you do,” she presses two fingers to his lips. Ben swats playfully. 

“I was _saying_ \- don’t interrupt, Knope - I probably don’t deserve it, but I’m not going to question it because I can’t imagine a situation existing where I don’t get to be with you now.”

Leslie grins and presses impossibly closer because she feels exactly the same.

This feels like home.

Home is good.

She likes home with Ben.  

**Day One Hundred**

“Are you okay?”

He’s holding her face and pushing inside her so slowly she might start crying right then. Leslie nods and rubs her nose against his, which crinkles cutely in response.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He kisses her cheek, drags his lips along her throat. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he smiles in response and nuzzles her gently. He smiles so much now, kisses every inch of her, cherishes every bit of her skin. Ben lifts her leg and suckles her collarbone.

“Can I uh…”

“Yes, y-yes, move, move,” Leslie cups his cheeks and he shudders and starts to push into her. Slowly at first, just an easy rocking, before he really starts to thrust.

He fills her up when he comes and they both melt together, sweaty, arms around each other. She strokes his hair and promises him it’s okay she didn’t get there.

“Next time, babe,” she beams and rolls on top of him. Ben sighs and kisses her forehead.

“Next time,” he agrees. It’s the first time she’s done anything like that since...so she was battling her mind during, but she’s happy, so happy.

Ben kisses the tip of her nose and tugs the sheets up over them.

“Always smile at me like that, please.”

Leslie giggles and finds his mouth with hers.

“Trust me yet?”

“Yes.”

Honestly, she’s pretty sure she always did.


End file.
